Cradled
by mommanerd
Summary: A little between the scenes shot of what we didn't see in the season 4 episode "Heart of Gold"


The search through the woods was fruitless, and Emma couldn't keep the tide of frustration back any longer. "Where the hell could that weasel have gone?" The words were out, and harsher than she'd intended, judging from Henry's expression and the way he dropped back and began studying the ground, the trees, the underbrush… anything to not deal with his mother at the moment.

"Henry…"

"It's okay, Mom."

And still he wasn't looking at her. She closed her eyes and took a few deliberate breaths, and then forced her voice down an octave. "Hey, kid, you know I'm not blaming you, right?"

He glanced up and met her gaze momentarily. "I'm the one who found the book and that stupid key."

"And I'm the one who used it." She wouldn't be forgetting that truth, that she'd forged ahead against the advice of her parents. Hell, she'd probably done it because it was exactly what they didn't want her to do. Rebellion wasn't new for her, but these intense feelings of rage toward her parents kept threatening to overwhelm her, and thinking straight didn't seem to be in her repertoire right now. Henry was still making a job of kicking around dirt clods, so Emma drifted over, close enough to give him a soft nudge with her elbow. "Henry, none of this is your fault."

"I heard you talking to them."

She thought as much. "Yeah, it's been a rough day. I'm sorry, okay?"

Finally, he looked up. "Would it be okay if I went back with them?"

"Sure, if you want to." She tried to keep the tone light, but she could tell her words weren't reassuring him. She wrapped her arm around him and gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Seriously, they're your grandparents and I'm okay with it. We aren't going to find anything else out here tonight, so go."

A moment later, all she could make out of Henry was the sound of his feet as he ran to catch up with David and Mary Margaret, and once she knew it was safe to do so, she dropped her neutral façade.

"Swan."

She hadn't forgotten Killian was there, and she appreciated that he hadn't interfered, but she wasn't ready to talk. "Do you think we should keep looking?"

"Not tonight. I don't think he's out here."

"Yeah. Me either." And then it dawned on her that she didn't know what to do next. There was no point in staying, but the idea of tromping back to the loft and dealing with everything there was less than appealing. Killian's warm hand slid across her palm and his fingers twined between hers.

"Come on, love. I know just the place."

* * *

The last time she'd been on this ship, she'd been kissing the Hook he'd been in the past, and everything had been different. The ship had been alive with activity as the crew had returned from their evening out, and the dock had been so populated that they'd had to wend around and through groups as they made their escape. Everything was different now. The dock was deserted, as was the Jolly Roger. Hook wasn't remotely drunk, and she wasn't remotely flirtatious. She moved up the ramp and onto the deck, her steps sounding hollow in the night air.

"She doesn't look too bad, considering everything she's been through," Emma said.

Killian nodded. "I've always believed that she thrives on the excitement."

"So, are you going to be giving up your place at Granny's?" The inn had never seemed like a good fit for him, but she had to admit she liked that it kept him close by.

"Eventually." He moved away from her and she watched as he wandered around on the deck, touching the railings and the ropes, lifting his face to inspect the lowered sails and seeming content that they were secure.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.

He was silent for a while, and took his time returning to her. He stopped, several feet away, and studied her. "I've always found that being on the water helps me find some perspective."

"Like that the ocean is so big that your problems don't really matter?" She wished it were that easy.

But he inclined his head. "More like, if I can make this pile of wood conquer whatever the sea sends my way, I can do anything."

"And I bet you have a lot of stories about those anythings."

"Aye, that I do."

She didn't know what he expected of her, and she was too drained to tackle riddles. "Look, Killian…"

"Shh." He moved closer. "No talking. No thinking. Just come below with me and have a drink."

That sounded perfect. So she followed him down the steps, and plopped herself on the bunk. It was the softest seat around, and there was room for him beside her. He reached into his coat, producing his flask, and handed it to her before joining her on the thin mattress.

She found she'd developed a taste for rum, and the warmth of it slid down her throat. She passed the flask back to him, but he waved her off.

"You keep it."

"Really?"

"Just for tonight."

"Oh, well in that case…" and she took a hefty swig. Not bad. She was feeling something other than betrayal or frustration for the first time all day.

Killian shifted, and she looked up to see what he was doing. He was reaching down for her ankle. "Lie back," he said.

She didn't move. "So is this how you seduce a girl?"

"No." He gripped her leg firmly. "This is how I initiate a foot rub."

"A foot rub?!" Those were words she'd never expected to hear out of a pirate, but she turned and settled her back against the headboard, and allowed him to move her feet into his lap. "Do you need help with the boots?" she offered.

"Got it."

It amazed her what he could do with one hand. She took another drink as she considered what he might be able to accomplish if he had both hands and a few less scruples. Milah had never stood a chance.

"What's so funny, Swan." His hand was working its way up and down her instep, finding sensitive areas she hadn't realized were sore. She also hadn't realized she'd laughed out loud.

"Nothing, really." She watched as he looked up and quirked his eyebrow. THE eyebrow. Her bare toes curled. "I was just wondering if you'd done this for any unsuspecting maidens in the past, and if it paid off for you."

"Trust me, love. Any wenches who were here with me were anything but unsuspecting."

True that. The man was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with swords or guns. "Ooh." That sound escaped as he switched to her other foot, and ran the curve of his hook from her heel to her toes, with just enough force that it didn't tickle, but not enough to cause any pain. "How come I never knew you had this talent."

He smirked. "Perhaps I wanted you to value me for my intellect."

The rum had done it's magic, and Emma couldn't help blurting out that she valued a lot of things about him that had nothing to do with his intellect. Uh oh.

But Killian just grinned at her, flashing his teeth and those adorable dimples. Sinful, awful, beautiful pirate. And all too soon, he moved her feet aside and rose, finding a blanket in a trunk by the bed, and tucking it around her legs. He withdrew a pillow from the same box and lifted her head, letting his fingers slide through her hair as he settled it under her.

She sighed and relaxed back. It might have been months since he'd been on this ship, but his scent surrounded her. She burrowed in deeper. "This is nice."

He bent over and kissed her forehead. "Then I'll bid you goodnight, Swan."

Her eyes flew open. "Goodnight?" She was not ready for goodnight. "Where are you going?"

He crouched down so that his eyes were level with hers, and his hand found her hair again, rubbing the strands between his thumb and fingers. "You've had a rough go of it, Emma, and this would not be the night for us to move forward."

Even her rum addled brain knew he was speaking the truth. "But I really don't want you to go." And it occurred to her that it was the first time she'd ever really said those words to anyone. Her go to response was to push people way, and here, without even trying, she was attempting to pull him closer. She studied him to see if he understood as the panic began to creep its way back up into her throat again.

His fingers stilled and his hand cupped her head. He kissed her forehead again, and then her cheek, and then her nose. His lips finally settled on mouth and she kissed him back, reaching to hold him there when he would have pulled away. Finally, after long minutes, the kiss ended, and he lifted his head.

"You always stop too soon," she said.

"I like to leave you wanting more," he told her.

"Will you stay?"

In answer, he rose and removed his jacket and vest. She'd never seen him without the vest before, and was disappointed when he stopped there, leaving his shirt in place. He kicked off his boots, and she moved to let him stretch out beside her. His head replaced hers on the pillow and she burrowed in under his arm to rest her cheek on his chest. She could hear the strong, steady thrum of his heart and marveled that she'd held it in her hands just a few short months earlier.

"Killian?"

"Yes, love?"

"Thank you." For everything. But words weren't her strong suit, so she left it there.

She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, soothed at last by the gentle rocking of the boat as the water slapped softly against the hull, and in the secure grasp of this man's arms.


End file.
